


Small Things

by bonaweab



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Actually most likely reciprocated, Again, Am I tagging this Wrong, Batjokes, Bruce denies his feelings, Canon-Typical Violence, Fighting, Is there an actual tag for that, Joker gets arrested, Kind of metaphors, Late Valentine's thing, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Oops I got Sick, Possibly reciprocated, fluff sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 23:19:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9791573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonaweab/pseuds/bonaweab
Summary: On days like today, Bruce looks at his archnemesis and decides that just once, he can allow himself to be just a bit gentler.





	

Around this time of year, Bruce hoped that Joker would notice the small things that changed.

  
Nothing too drastic happened—the two archenemies still danced across the skyline of Gotham, blood and smoke and time struggling to catch up with them. Joker really was a sight to behold in moments like those, bloody and raking in ragged, heaving breaths into his skinny chest. But there was something about that smile of his, so devilish and chaotic and strangely, bizarrely captivating. They skated over the skyscrapers that clawed at the moon, their bodies slick with sweat and aching with the thrill of the chase.

  
Then they would dive headlong into the climax of their meeting. Bruce could never deny Joker the sensation of another fight, the feeling of a Kevlar-bound fist smashing into a face or of an armored elbow jabbing against long and lanky limbs. If asked, Bruce would deny ever knowing anything about the visceral vivacity of their fights, but maybe after so many times, Bruce had begun to believe Joker whenever the clown said he loved their little “heart-to-hearts.” God knows that Bruce would never admit to his own pleasure he got from their fights. But no matter how hard Bruce tried to repress and ignore it like so many other things, he caved in to this desire. On days like this, Bruce might even fight with more aggression than usual. Not too much, but enough to make the slightest difference to himself.

  
He would always be careful not to look too closely into something like this lest he fall into the widening pit of darkness that always seems to follow just behind.

  
Before either one is prepared, the fight reaches its peak as they're both locked in a tightening embrace. It's loud and violent and Joker's shrieking with laughter and the world suddenly seems far too bright and dark at the same time that Bruce has to take a moment to readjust, or else he just might crash to the floor. Joker might be pinned beneath him, or against a wall, or even being held by the throat over an open drop into the streets below. On days like today, Bruce eases the pressure so slightly that it might not even have occurred. They're usually both covered in injuries, some grievous and some not. Joker calls them “love marks,” and even on the best of days Bruce can't tell if that really means anything. The two men take a moment to breathe, and Bruce is able to really see how exhausted Joker is. How exhausted they both are. It's the type of exhaustion that settles deep in the bones but makes the soul sing with some fulfilled purpose. Bruce wastes no time in analyzing this, either; not out of fear, but out of an unnamable emotion that always stirs in the pit of his stomach on days like today.

  
Before either of the two men have really readied themselves, it's time to tuck away the toys in their game and clean up so that they can play again. Bruce slams Joker's head against the hood of the Batmobile or a brick wall or the cracked and dirty asphalt beneath them. The sometimes sickening crunch stirs something carnivorous and feral deep within Bruce, but for now he can hide it away in the depths again. No one has the energy for a second round, no matter what kind of taunts or threats are hurled. On days like today, though, Bruce lessens the force of the blow. Joker's head bangs against the Batmobile's hood or the wall or the filthy sidewalk, and while it still dazes him, it won't leave any bruises or cause any fractures. Bruce wonders if Joker notices this beyond the haze of pain and insanity, and a small, bold part of him almost wants to tell the clown all about it, all about how _see, he was gentler today_. A small snort would leave Joker's violently red lips, but Bruce would brush that off as something small, something inconsequential. These were little, minute details Bruce was sure Joker paid no mind to, not when the clown had his eyes trained on death and destruction and the Bat, always the Bat.

  
But sometimes, when Bruce would wrangle Joker into police custody at 3:35 in the morning on Valentine's Day, Bruce could almost trick himself into believing that Joker's smile wasn't only cruel and warped, but also knowing.

The thought of Joker noticing even the smallest changes could make even Bruce's shadow-engulfed heart clench.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry! I meant to write this for Valentine's Day, but I got sick after watching the Lego Batman movie (which was totally worth it). Then I went back to school and was bogged down with assignments. I hope you'll forgive me! And happy late Valentine's Day!


End file.
